


Snufkin's Malady

by kartoffeln



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kartoffeln/pseuds/kartoffeln
Summary: Spring has arrived, and Snufkin falls ill at the most inopportune time. If only he were in Moominvalley!(Crossposted to Fanfiction.net)





	

Winter was gone. The snow had melted, and animals were beginning to emerge from their hiding places under the ground. Greenery was popping up everywhere, and finally, the whiteness and darkness of winter had given way to make room for the bright colours of spring.

Snufkin was not alright. The sun was out and the weather was great, but he felt off. It was like not wearing enough layers in winter, or like being within three metres of the Groke. Snufkin lay in his sleeping bag for a moment, sniffing, and rolled onto his side. Briefly contemplating the thought of staying in his sleeping bag all day, Snufkin dismissed the thought and forced himself to get up. There were things to do, and a woozy feeling hasn’t stopped him before.

Perhaps it would be best to get going. Spring had arrived, and Moomintroll had probably already woken up from his deep winter slumber. Moomintroll must be waiting for him in Moominvalley, waiting for the sound of his harmonica. Snufkin rolled up his sleeping bag and placed it by the side of his tent, now filled with a newfound determination.

Snufkin left his tent first. Breakfast was important. The sunlight bore straight into his head like a pneumatic drill, but Snufkin only gritted his teeth and raised an arm to shield his face. Plodding over to the nearby campfire, Snufkin rekindled the fire that had gone out a while ago. As the first flames were brought to life, they lurched and snapped at Snufkin’s face, and he quickly withdrew. He had felt uncomfortably hot standing close to the fire, and even at a safe distance away from it, every inch of his skin shivered in the heat.

Snufkin couldn’t stand this feeling any longer, so he stormed off to his tent. He plucked all the pegs up from the ground with great difficulty, and promptly proceeded to dismantle the tent, folding it all up nicely and then putting everything into the appropriate pockets of his travelling bag.

Back at the campfire, Snufkin got to work making some porridge. It was simple enough, and perfect for the sort of state he was in. He would have tried to fish to try take his mind off things, but it was stupid to try catch fish this early in the morning when it was still cold. Most fish were cold-blooded creatures, and they didn’t like this sort of chilliness. Half of the fun of fishing was seeing what sort of catch you’ll make, and what was the point of that if there wouldn’t be any fish?

He placed all the necessary ingredients and materials on the ground close to his bag (a pot, a bowl, a spoon, some oats that he’d gotten the other day, and some berries that he’d gotten just the night before, and a little bottle of salt he carried around at all times), and shuffled over the river to collect some water.

Once he had gotten the water into his water vessel, Snufkin stumbled back to the campfire and poured all of it into the pot to boil. The water had been heavy to carry, even more so than usual, and after he had emptied up the vessel, he sat down to take a breather. But soon, the water began to fizz and bubble, and Snufkin jumped up. He grabbed a handful of oats and began mashing them together and then threw them into the boiling water before it occurred to him that he should have refilled his water bottle first.

Snufkin could have slapped himself, except that he broke off into a nasty cough when he tried to growl in frustration. Snufkin hacked up some phlegm, which he spat into the soil, and looked at it with disgust. Just how bad could this illness get? The watery bit of the porridge might hydrate him just a little – but he would need to get more water, just in case.

Soon, the porridge had been cooked, and Snufkin put the berries into the porridge to make it more palatable, as well as a little salt. He downed it with apathy, though in actual fact, he spent half the time staring into space and mulling over things like his pounding headache or his imminent journey back to Moominvalley rather than actually eating. He would have only two hours’ worth of journeying left. Two hours wasn’t that bad, he persuaded himself. It could have been worse – perhaps he could have come down with an illness eight hours away from Moominvalley, and then what would he do if it rendered him helpless?

Snufkin shook his head. No, he shan’t have that, especially not while he was so close to Moominvalley. If he rested here, right in the wilderness, then there would be no telling what would happen. At least in Moominvalley, there would be people that could help him. And then Moominmamma could concoct a cure for his illness – and also give him a nice bed to stay in while he recovered.

Snufkin whistled. He had found his resolve.

Snufkin finished the rest of his grub and kept all his ingredient stuffs into his bag, while he brought the pot, bowl and spoon to the river to give them a wash. After doing so, he scooped water from the river into the pot, and splashed a little over his forehead to make him feel better. Immediately he felt himself cool down, and he made a sound of relief.

“Hhhaaaaawwnhh,” sighed Snufkin. He felt his entire body relax. Much better, he thought.

Snufkin slowly made his way back to the campfire, and began boiling the pot of water again. As he waited for the water to boil, he kept the spoon and bowl back into his bag, and retrieved his water bottle – a cylindrical metal thing that stored a litre of water. As he pulled out the water bottle from the deep end of his bag, a cloth made its way up to the top of his bag. Snufkin suddenly had an idea.

Stuffing the cloth into his pocket, Snufkin took the water bottle and filled it, and then poured the rest of the water over the campfire to put it out. Then, taking the cloth, Snufkin dried the pot with the cloth. He put the pot back into his bag, and went back to the river one last time. Snufkin dunked the cloth into the river, wringed it, and then put it over his forehead.

His body felt too hot compared to his head, but Snufkin told himself that this was nothing. At least he could still walk, and that was what mattered the most to a vagabond like him. Snufkin managed to get over to the campfire, and then fitting his bag over his shoulders, Snufkin went. But not before making sure he had his pipe and his harmonica in his pockets first, in case he wanted to play something or have a smoke while he walked, although he wasn’t sure if he would be in the mood for that at all.

Snufkin went through the woods, coughing along the way. The trees were bright and green, now that all the snow had melted away, and all the flowers were lovely to look at, but when Snufkin bent down to observe one, he inhaled too deeply and had a coughing fit when all the pollen got into his nose.

Animals seemed to avoid him, and there was nary any of them in sight, though he heard plenty of rustling and the occasional tweeting of a bird. This did not surprise Snufkin at all.

Well, thought Snufkin bitterly, of course they’d want nothing to do with me. They wouldn’t want to catch whatever it is that I’m having.

The cloth remained pressed on his forehead, but eventually it dried up as the sun rose and shone its rays. But his forehead was soaked anyway from all the sweat dripping out of his pores. Snufkin wiped his head and kept the cloth in his pockets, and Snufkin pulled down his hat in order to avoid the harsh gaze of the sunlight. But the sweat just kept on coming, and it didn’t help with the stuffy and chilly feeling he was experience.

Snufkin had to sit down. He chose a rock to sit down on, under the shade where he felt least affected by the stark sunlight. Snufkin took a drink of water and tried to relax.

He didn’t know how long he sat for until the sun went down. Then he got up from his rock and made his way to Moominvalley under the guiding light of the moon.

Finally, Snufkin did make it to Moominvalley. Snufkin was so relieved, that Snufkin took his harmonica out from his pockets and tried to play a tune, albeit a haphazard one. He staggered tiredly past the bridge, playing his harmonica, and when he made it to Moominhouse, Snufkin did the only thing he could: he collapsed onto the front porch with an undignified bang.

* * *

 

Moomintroll could not sleep at all that night. He tossed and he turned, and he tried readjusting his sheets and rolling around until he found a position that suited him, but no matter what he did, Moomintroll could not fall asleep.

It wasn’t as if Snufkin was unusually late this year – no, no, not at all. There _had_ been one year where Snufkin had been later than this, but Moomintroll couldn’t help but to miss his dear friend terribly. Things just weren’t the same without Snufkin around – whose musings and music would he listen to on lazy days? To whom would he share his secrets with? There was just a certain air about Snufkin that no one else quite had, and Moomintroll longed for this certain air.

The sound of a harmonica began to fill the air, vaguely resembling one of Snufkin’s signature tunes, except much more chaotic with a lot of wrong notes and stretched out noises.

“This is just great,” thought Moomintroll, burying his head in his pillow. “I’ve forgotten what Snufkin’s songs sound like, so I’m imagining them all wrong.”

The awful mishmash of notes was beginning to annoy Moomintroll, however, Moomintroll couldn’t will himself to stop imagining the noises. Moomintroll jumped out of bed, and looked out the window to try get a breath of fresh air. Perhaps that would help him to sleep. To his pleasant surprise, he saw Snufkin’s wide-brimmed hat not too far off in the distance.

“It’s Snufkin!” exclaimed Moomintroll in surprise. He leaned out the window to get a better look. By that time, Snufkin had made it over to the side of the river, and Moomintroll was expecting him to behind setting up tent there.

But Snufkin kept on going, past the bridge, and onwards to Moominhouse in an awkward gait.

“Whatever is Snufkin doing?” wondered Moomintroll, hoping that what he knew was happening wasn’t actually happening.

Then suddenly, Moomintroll heard a loud thud. “Snufkin!” he cried, jumping out the window and onto his ladder. Moomintroll crawled downwards, only to find Snufkin collapsed on the front porch with his harmonica on the floor.

“Get up, Snufkin,” he said, grabbing Snufkin’s arm. “I’ll bring you up to bed and have Mama look at you. Get up, Snufkin, get up!”

Snufkin merely grunted and murmured, and Moomintroll knew at once that he had to get help. There was no way he could carry Snufkin up by himself.

Moomintroll rushed indoors and up the stairs. He shouted at their bedroom door, “Papa, Papa! Mama, Mama! Come out quickly! Snufkin needs your help!”

The door burst open. Moominpappa had hurried out of his room so quickly that he’d forgotten to put on his hat, while Moominmamma had just lumbered out of bed, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“Snufkin’s in trouble, you say?” said Moominpappa. He had a glint of determination in his eyes.

“Yes,” replied Moomintroll. “He’s passed out on the front porch. I think he’s so tired, that he’s forgotten how to play a harmonica properly.”

“Oh dear,” said Moominmamma, pushing Moominpappa out of the way. She made her way downstairs. “Let me tend to him, then.”

“And I’ll help bring him upstairs,” added Moominpappa, following Moominmamma downstairs.

Moomintroll heard a creak from a door opening, and the small red figure of Little My emerged. She yawned, and then clung to the banister, looking downwards.

“What’s all this noise about?” demanded Little My.

“Snufkin’s collapsed on the front porch,” explained Moomintroll, deciding that he would lean on the banister as well.

Little My hummed. “Well, that’s very odd. He must have walked so much that his own body has decided to give up on him! Maybe then he’ll decide that the vagabond lifestyle isn’t for him, and then he’ll stop eating so much fish and stop stinking of fish most the time.”

“Don’t say such things, Little My,” said Moomintroll, slightly miffed. “There must be an explanation for this sort of thing. Maybe he’s gotten sick.”

Just then, Moominpappa came back up the stairs carrying an unconscious Snufkin on his back. Moominmamma followed closely behind, carrying several instruments as well as Snufkin’s belongings. She helped Moominpappa to open the door to the guest room, where Moominpappa tucked Snufkin into bed. Both Moomintroll and Little My followed as well, hoping to find out about the condition of their friend. Moominmamma placed Snufkin’s belongings on the side of the bed and hung his wide-brimmed hat on the bed post, and then she got to work. The rest of the family watched in anticipation.

“I think he’s gone down with a fever,” said Moominmamma as she stuck a thermometer into Snufkin’s mouth. Then, on the bedside table, she dunked cloth into a basin of cold water, then wringed it and placed it on Snufkin’s forehead. Moominmamma shooed everyone out of the room and Moomintroll went to bed, only a little bit anxious about his friend’s health. Only Moominmamma stayed up, boiling a medicinal brew in the kitchen.

The next morning, Moomintroll had his breakfast downstairs at the dining table. Everyone except for Snufkin was present, so he asked Moominmamma about Snufkin’s current condition. Moominmamma, pouring orange juice into Moomintroll’s cup, answered that Snufkin was only just recovering.

“If you want, you can bring his breakfast up to him,” she said, “and see how he manages. If he’s doing well by now, then he might not need some of that special medicine I’ve prepared.”

Moomintroll complied, even though it wasn’t really a request. He got up from his chair and Moominmamma shoved into his paws a tray of soup. Moomintroll hiked up the staircase, taking great care not to spill any of the soup he had.

“Snufkin! I’m coming in,” called out Moomintroll from the door. There was a faint and muffled response, so Moomintroll let himself in. Lying in bed was Snufkin, with messy hair and baggy eyes that indicated a poor night’s sleep, and Moomintroll walked closer to greet his dear friend.

“Hello, Moomin,” croaked Snufkin, recoiling at the sound of his voice. It was a good thing that he didn’t try to smoke at all the previous day, otherwise he would not have been able to articulate a single word at all. Moomintroll put the tray onto Snufkin’s lap, which Snufkin promptly began to lap up with the spoon. Moomintroll then pulled a chair that was sitting by the wall of the room, and dragged it so that he could sit by Snufkin’s side.

“Are you feeling any better?” asked Moomintroll, his tail swishing from side to side.

“Much,” replied Snufkin simply.

“Good,” said Moomintroll, getting up from his seat. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Me too,” said Snufkin.

Everyone that was a good friend came to visit. The Snorkmaiden gave flowers, Sniff made a card, and other people like the Hemulen gave their well wishes. And when Snufkin did get better, he immediately moved back outdoors and played his harmonica on the bridge, and he, Moomintroll, and the rest of their friends enjoyed the beauty of Spring’s bloom while it lasted, whiling their days away. All was well.


End file.
